


Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?

by Neptunium134



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula 2 RPF
Genre: Character Death, Death, Gen, Post Belgium 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 19:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neptunium134/pseuds/Neptunium134
Summary: Set after the 2019 Belgian F2 crash.Anthoine wakes up in a strange place, and only Jules is there.Together they watch Charles' strength of character as he deals with Anthonie's death.Beacuse after all, who lives, who dies, who tells your story?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RosaNautica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaNautica/gifts).

> Please note there are other characters, it's just my phone didn't like the Anthoine Hubert tag so I had to make one.
> 
> This fic deals with major character death, so if you're someone who has issues with these things, I suggest you turn back now.

Anthonie Hubert squeezed his eyes shut, the bright white blinding him.

When he opened them again, the harsh brightness had disappeared, and in its place was a duller, dimmer white.

A hand was placed on his shoulder. Anthoine looked up and was met with the face of Jules Bianchi.

Wait, if Jules was here than that meant-

Before he could finish his thought, Jules spoke up.

"_Let me tell you what I wish I'd known, _

_ When I was young and dreamed of glory, _

_ You have no control _

_ Who lives, who dies, who tells your story. _"

The elder Frenchman lead him over to a small pond, lightly tapping the surface.

The water rippled, showing an image of the F1 paddock.

"_Most Formula One drivers' story gets told _"

The image showed Lewis Hamilton in the Mercedes motorhome, the Championship titles plastered on the wall.

"_ ost Formula One drivers get to grow old _"

The image changed to Kimi Räikkönen in his Alfa Romeo suit, eating an icecream, his sunglasses firmly fixed on his nose.

"_But when you're gone, who remembers your name? _"

The pond rippled again, displaying Pierre looking at his phone, tears running down his cheeks.

"_Who keeps your flame? _"

It changed again to Stoffel- Anthoine hadn’t known he was there that weekend- also looking at his phone, face pale and hand over his mouth.

"_Who tells your story? _"

The water showed Lando, George and Alex staring at the TV in Lando’s hotel room, the news was showing the crash, over and over and over-

_ Who tells your story? _

_ Who tells your story? _

The words repeated themselves in Anthonie's head. He shut his eyes tight once again, shaking his head to rid it of the voices.

"_C__harles… _"

Anthonie's head whipped up, tears stinging in his eyes. Shit, he'd forgotten about Charles. How was he gonna react? He'd lost so many people already- his father, Jules and now Anthoine.

Image-Charles was sat on his bed, head between his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. 

Anthoine felt tears run down his own cheeks, it wasn't fair. Charles had lost so much already, why did he have to lose Anthoine too?

Suddenly, Charles lifted his head, eyes mirroring his determination.

"_I put myself back into the narrative _."

"_Charles… _"

Anthonie wanted to reach through the water to hug Charles, stroke his hair, whisper that everything would be alright, like he had done so many times in the past.

"_I stop wasting time on tears _."

Charles wiped away the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand, but that didn't stop fresh ones spilling over.

"_I'll live at least fifty years, it's not enough. _"

"_Charles… _"

Charles exited his hotel, heading towards the Paddock, phone and notepad in hand.

"_I interviewed every driver who raced by your side. _"

The image showed Charles talking to the other F2 drivers, making notes in his notepad and nodding at various points.

"_We tell your story. _"

Anthoine turned around, looking behind him. Who said that? Nyck? Juan? Was he hearing things?

Jules turned his attention back to the pond where it showed Charles tapping away on his computer.

"_They'll try to make sense of my thousands of pages of writing _."

Charles was tapping away into the night- stats, family life, media questions- you name it, it was on that Google Doc.

Anthonie smiled sadly.

"_Y__ou really do write like you're running out of time. _"

"_I rely on Pierre. When he's around we tell your story. _"

The image switched again, showing Charles with Pierre, hunched over, whispering in a corner.

"_The teams have decided we're racing for you. _"

A close-up of Lance Stroll’s Racing Point car with the star in the French flag colours and 'Racing for Anthoine' transferred on filled the pond. 

Anthonie's vision was now blurry with tears, he could hardly see anything. 

The image changed again to show all the drivers in a semi-circle around his helmet, heads bowed, black armbands on their arms.

"_When I needed them most they were right on time. _"

"_But I'm still not through." _

The pond showed Charles battling Lewis and Sebastian for the win, bringing his car over the line first.

"_I ask myself what would you do if you had more time? _"

Charles' first podium, and how Anthoine wished he was there to see it in person.

"_The Lord in his kindness, he gives me what you always wanted, he gives me more time." _

Charles stood up in his car, parked in Parc Ferme, and pointed towards the sky, towards Anthoine.

"_I__ raise funds for a new charity dedicated to you. _"

A logo flashed up- the 'Anthoine Hubert Charity'. 

The young Frenchman rubbed his eyes, trying to gain some sight back.

"_He tells your story. _" Jules glanced at Anthoine.

"_I speak out about safety. _"

The FIA were now sitting in a room, discussing new changes to make the sport safer. It would never be 100% safe, there would still be casualties, but they would do what they could to make a fun, but safe, sport.

"_You could've done so much more if you only had time. _"

Charles sighed to himself, staring at Anthonie's 2019 statistics. He would’ve been a great F1 driver if he’d only made it that far.

Charles lay in his bed, allowing tears to fall down his cheeks.

"_And when my time is up, have I done enough? _"

The young Monegasque looked at his phone, at a picture of him and Anthonie taken not too long ago in the Monaco summer.

"_Will they tell your story? _"

He scrolled through his Twitter feed, looking at all the hearts and '#Lap19's posted during the race.

For the first time since hearing the awful news, he smiled. There was no doubting the motorsport community wouldn't forget Anthonie. They didn't forget Jules, or Ayrton, so why start forgetting now?

He looked back at the photo.

"_Oh I can't wait to see you again, it's only a matter of time. _"

The pond shimmered back to the F1 paddock.

"_Who lives, who dies, who tells your story? _"

"_Time… _" Jules whispered.

"_Will they tell your story? _"

The question repeated itself, seemingly unsure.

"_T__ime_… " Anthonie smiled, closing his eyes.

He looked back at the pond, meeting Charles' gaze, his smile growing.

He was going to see his friend again, as a multiple-world champion who had lived a full life and had a family.

After all, it was only a matter of time.

"_W__ho lives, who dies, who tells your story? _"


	2. Notice

Just to let you guys know, I will not be removing this story, even with the "hoes mad" thread going on.

I am not intimidated by the commenters, and after a rather lengthy discussion with one of my friends, who encouraged me to keep it up and to believe in my writing, so that I shall do.

Give me hate, give threats, but I assure you, I've heard much worse than "hoes mad" (and actually, "hoes" was what I used to call my Wattpad following before I decided I didn't like it, now they're my "friends", so saying "hoes mad" just makes me think of my Wattpad from about two years ago and the threat falls flat, sorry), and as for being "disrespectful" to Anthonie and Jules, I don't believe that it is, as do some other people, but I implore you, if you see them saying they enjoyed the story and think it's a touching tribute, don't give them slate. I don't care if you give me slate, but not anyone who enjoyed it. Any of my returning readers know I value my reader's opinions, but not when they attack me or call me names. I appreciate constructive criticism, but not outright slash.

If you did not like this story, I'm sorry, but you'll have to avoid it. Good news is, this will be the last update and after today this will be lost in the sea of Charles Leclerc fics.

I will also enable comment moderation, not because I'm a coward or because I don't like being insulted- it isn't pleasant, but I've had worse- it's so I can keep my temper in check and so I won't get into another argument in the comments.

Thank you for reading, and I wish you all the best. If you like my writing, I would like to thank you for the support, if you don't like it, then I can't make you change your mind.

**Author's Note:**

> -summary of inspiration-  
Me: *has a cold, has gone to bed at a decent time hoping to get a decent sleep*
> 
> Brain: *starts playing WLWDWTYS*
> 
> Creative part of brain: *starts making up a story to go with the music*
> 
> Brain: *waking me up* BITCH YOU GOTTA WRITE IT DOWN AND BAWL OVER ANTHONIE ONCE AGAIN
> 
> Me: *internally* I hate myself.
> 
> Ta-dah.
> 
> I realise some of the song is missing, but that is because of two reasons;  
1\. I made the conscious desicion to leave that part out  
2\. I was stupid and left it out and didn't realise until I listened to the song before deciding it wouldn't fit anyway
> 
> This piece of trash was written between 12 and 1 am by someone who has a cold and a nasty cough who also enjoys inflicting pain upon herself and others. You're welcome.


End file.
